Deader than Alive
by Dragonlord Stephi
Summary: Kurik is a bored Shinigami, so he takes Ryuk's advice for having fun: dropping a Death Note for a human to pick it up. Not just any human, though- the next Kira, the perfect psychopath. Ryuk suggests trying worlds where humans reside other than Light's own, and by accident, drops it in the House, where it is picked up not by the once-human Piper's Children but an immortal. Whups.
1. Prologue- Into the Wrong Hands

Prologue- Into the Wrong Hands

The world of the Shinigami can be a very dull place.

There were tales, of course, of those who tried to make it more interesting, and the Shinigami who played games with the humans they espied, an attempt to entertain an eternity of being nothing but monochrome ill-contents. There was the legend of Ryuk, and his human Light. Kurik knew Ryuk, and he thought that the legend either grossly exaggerated the Shinigami's character, or Ryuk had changed over the centuries.

In any case, Kurik was bored, and that meant he would, inevitably, pay a visit to Ryuk.

"Busy as usual?" Kurik smirked, drawing up behind Ryuk. The Shinigami had been writing down several names of humans.

Ryuk looked up and smirked back. It was a twisted sort of smile, a smirk, that looked malicious even on humans- but on Shinigamis, it was even worse. "As usual," he said. "Lazy as usual, Kurik?"

Kurik chuckled and answered, "As usual." It was their routine, a banter that went between them. Kurik could not say he was Ryuk's friend- Ryuk had no friends, and Kurik didn't want any- but they associated, and spoke to each other on a basis more frequent than once a couple centuries (which was quite often, considering there were Shinigamis Kurik and Ryuk hadn't so much as looked at in millennia).

"Something up?" Ryuk asked, shutting his Death Note with a loud smack.

"Nothing," Kurik shrugged, "and that is the problem."

"Ah, I see. You're bored," Ryuk nodded.

"Very."

"Drop your Note somewhere," Ryuk said, which was exactly what Kurik thought he'd say.

"I need someplace interesting, spicy," Kurik explained, "someplace to give me as much satisfaction as possible. Humans are fine and all, but a human country where just the right one will find it."

Ryuk gave him a questioning expression. If he was human, it would have been described as 'raising an eyebrow,' but Ryuk did not have eyebrows. "You want me to tell you a place where you're guaranteed the perfect person will find it?"

"The next Kira. The next psychopath with enough self-righteousness and a god complex to use the Death Note to no end," Kurik confirmed.

"Impossible," Ryuk scoffed. "Some things are left to chance. I just struck it lucky. Unless…"

"Unless what?" Kurik demanded. Ryuk better not hide anything. Kurik was not a bully, but he used force when needed, and Shinigami were not impervious to pain.  
At least, not totally.

"Well, sometimes there are other worlds… they're difficult to get to, but there are humans there. Or things close to humans, anyway. If you feel it is worth a try… I know some ways to get there."

"Why haven't you dropped any Notes there, then?" Kurik challenged. As far as he knew, there were just the human and Shinigami realms. He wasn't sure he trusted Ryuk enough to take his word on something so preposterous.

"Because," Ryuk said, his smirk widening unnaturally, ear-to-ear literally- that is, if Ryuk had ears, rather than ear-like protrusions on the side of his head. "It'd be far more interesting to see someone brash do it, someone who'd handle things differently from me. A Shinigami with interesting ideas and meddlesome qualities… even I bore myself, sometimes."

* * *

It was raining, as usual. The tower was getting taller, as usual. Lord Sunday tempted her, as usual. Piper's Children and Rats got on her nerves, as usual. Guilt over Wednesday and irrational fear of Wednesday leaping out of puddles to exact gnawing, biting revenge- the Border Sea touched any water, puddles or not, and Wednesday did not view her with happiness in her heart- tormented her, as usual. The Attendants brainwashed immortal beings to keep their minds permanently in the state of that of children, the Artful Loungers sat around all day, the Sorcerous Supernumeraries moped at their bad luck, and the rain kept drizzling. Her plots were working, but ever so slowly, some Rightful Heir had taken Monday's position, and he was already being dealt with; it was so easy to entice Tuesday to do something with the right loopholes (she had, of course, finished law school, so finding that particular loophole was a cinch; she had a loophole for every single one of the Days stocked up if need be, except for herself, which was the annoyance).

In short, life was hum-drum, hum-_boring._

One would think power would be enticing and interesting, but absolute power corrupts absolutely, and it was hard to find someone more corrupted than she (though perhaps the hopeless greenie above her in the Gardens might qualify). One might decide that a Rightful Heir showing up after millennia would be enough of a wrinkle in the set pattern, the rut she was finding herself in, to shake things up, but truth be told, when the plan to deal with the Rightful Heir was decided upon just as long ago, the execution wasn't all that interesting, and so early in the game, this Pretender hadn't done anything to really garner her attention save a cocigrue or Spirit Eater here or there.

Superior Saturday sighed and looked out her window. Most of the Tower did not have windows, or even walls, but she was not one to stand being drenched in the drizzle when she had the opportunity to be enclosed in warmth; thus, her quarters, which were always on the top of the Tower, were the only parts of it to have actual walls and windows. The pitter-patter of the drops of water on the windowsill was getting on her nerves, as it had every day for the past ten thousand years, but she was so used to the bother it merely tickled her subconscious.

Saturday was actually working. She had a million regulations to pass, twice as many to veto, and three times as many technically-illegal-but-no-one-would-know-and-thus-no-one-would-care things to quietly set into motion. She didn't often look out the window, because the sight of the rain reminded her of Wednesday and the Will, and those inadvertently set her thinking to the Architect, which led to Lord Sunday, which led to the irresistible desire to look up.

But today, she'd spilled some ink over her desk in a careless motion that in itself was a sign that the eternal irritation she felt resigned to was becoming akin to eternal frustration. Clicking her tongue in disgust at her own lack of guardedness, she rescued a stack of papers from the oncoming mass of deformed black ink and laid them on the inner windowsill. Her gaze drifted outside for a second, up.

As usual.

Saturday saw the ceiling of the Upper House part, and the tantalizing underside of the Gardens shown through, so infuriating, so loved. She hated these glimpses. She craved them. Then something blemished the rim, a small speck of irregularity that angered her almost as much as seeing the Gardens themselves. It took her a moment to see it was a small, miniscule notebook, and it was falling at a quick rate.

Despite herself, she was curious. So she found her gaze tore itself away from the rich, heavenly emerald of the Gardens to follow the ugly black notebook, and she found herself leaving the tower with her blue umbrella poised over her head to keep the rain- or bits of the Will, same thing- off her gorgeous hair as she strode to where she'd seen it fall.

There was absolutely no logical reason for her to want that notebook. She had millions of them, or billions, all filled in with records of mortals living in infinite worlds, crammed into her tower. She had just as many blank ones, quivering with anticipation of being filled with words, becoming the life story of someone who just might be extraordinary. She had no need of notebooks, and the ones she had were far better looking than this.

Yet she bent over and picked it up, wiping some rain off the cover. It didn't seem to be water-damaged, either because it was magical, which she didn't doubt for a second, or because she'd gotten to it in time, which was less likely, since her tower had at least sixty flights of stairs.

No one else paid her any mind, all the Denizens scuttling past not sparing her a look. Had no one else seen the notebook? Strange.

She turned it over and glanced at the cover. It was in the language she recognized as English, not her native language, for she was far too ancient for that, but a language she had learned. One learned many things when all one did for eternity was watch mortals, record their actions, and scheme, though lately her plans involved more scheming and less watching and recording.

"Death Note," she said, the words strange in her mouth. Saturday did not usually speak English aloud; there was no real need. Everyone in the House spoke its own ancient language, not as inimical as the words of the Architect, but just as incomprehensible to mortals. And the mortals? The Piper's Children? They _heard_ a variety of tongues, English, Spanish, Polish, Romanian- whatever- and they may have spoken it, but the House instantly translated it. "Death Note," she repeated again, savoring the foreign, exotic taste of the sounds. "What a strange name." She tucked it under her arm and went back into the Tower, not looking up this time, because she was looking down at her feet, deep in thought.

Which was a shame, because if she had looked up, just this once, she would have seen two Shinigami, laughing side by side.

They'd planned a human to find the Death Note, not a Denizen. They weren't even guaranteed it'd work for her, since no one had ever heard of anything inhuman other than a Shinigami using one.

But it was amusing nonetheless.


	2. Chapter One- Not Quite Human

Chapter One- Not Exactly Human

"'The human whose name is written in this note shall die,'" Saturday read aloud. "Mm, interesting. And useless. I could write their deaths in the records and do the same thing. I might as well say I have a billion Death Notes in the Upper House alone." She tossed it into her wastebasket with a snort and picked up her quill pen again, the magical Sixth Key that made whatever she wrote a reality.

Then a thought occurred to her.

To kill a single mortal in a spate of interference, she'd have to find that particular human's record and write it in, a monumental feat considering the state of the Lower House archives and the tremendous quantity of records she'd have to sift through, even in her own demesne of the Upper House. But if this Death Note worked the way it was written, she could easily write the name down in that and save herself the time and trouble.

And perhaps, it might even work against the Rightful Heir, since his record was now impervious to her attempts now that he had touched the First Key.  
She fished it out and flipped back to the page with rules on it, written in English. It was clear to her it had been meant to be found by a human, and since English was their most popular language, it made sense it was written in such. She wondered if it would kill Denizens. It didn't say a Denizen couldn't _use _it or that its use was restricted merely to humans, and it also didn't say that it would kill only humans, but there was a chance.

"'This note shall not go into effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not affected.' Hmm." Immediately a list of people she hated and could easily dispatch of popped into her head, the top of which was this Arthur Penhaligon character. Unfortunately, she hadn't actually seen what he looked like, but she could keep the Death Note in reserve, as a back-up, in case he foiled her plans and got too close to usurping the Upper House (though she wouldn't mind it if he got rid of the morons below her; that would actually be a boon). Next was Lord Sunday, but she wanted to actually see his death and hear his scream. She wanted to do it herself.

Plus, she couldn't remember his name.

After that was Lady Friday, but it would suit her better to let Arthur depose of her himself. Then there was Thursday's insufferable girlfriend Marshall Dawn, and Drowned Wednesday, but Saturday found that though she wouldn't hesitate to kill that perky little sentinel of fake goodness, it was much harder to bring herself to smite her ex-best friend, even if she had turned Wednesday into a whale. Saturday often justified that curse by telling herself that she had saved Wednesday's life and the lives of countless Denizens; sacrifices must be made for the greater good, after all.

"Could I kill Marshall Dawn?" she mused to herself. But then she realized she didn't know Dawn's actual name, merely about a million nicknames she and her siblings called each other, and that the only people who likely did know were Dawn, her siblings, and Sir Thursday. She doubted any of them would tell her.

"Or… who else do I hate?" It irked her that Denizens didn't use names anymore, and that she couldn't remember the names of those few who actually did. She couldn't even remember her own name, but she wasn't so stupid as to write _that _down.

Then she remembered that group of ridiculous Piper's Children who were always working on the Tower. She needed them to keep up her current building speed, but losing just one of them wouldn't be a great loss…

She sent a message to her Noon, and five minutes later, a sodden Piper's Child stood before her.

"What's your name, little one?" she asked. The boy was wearing overalls and wellingtons, and was dripping water everywhere. He had started to shake like a dog and dry himself off, but a glare from Saturday showed that was not acceptable behavior.

She was being quite nice, actually. No one really asked his name.

"Leif, Mistress," he answered.

"Don't call me 'Mistress,' it connotes things I don't like. 'Milady' or 'Majesty,' please," she corrected. Leif understood her dislike of it; that's what Lady Friday's hoard of boyfriends called her, so it made sense his milady wouldn't like it.

"Sorry, Milady," he said.

"It's quite all right. So, Leif, how are you feeling?"

"Quite good, actually."

"How's the work coming along?"

"Well. We've added a whole three feet by ourselves, and several promotions besides, just today!"

"Marvelous," she said, and smiled.

Leif loved that smile. It seemed very sincere. Then he watched as she asked him, "Is Leif your full name?"

"Er, no, but that's all I can remember," he said apologetically. "I've had too many washings." Then he bit his tongue, because he knew- like all Piper's Children in the Upper House- that it was Saturday's sorcerers who executed this task, for who knew what reason, but it must go unchallenged.

She didn't seem bothered by it, and she merely shrugged. "I see." Then she leaned close and whispered, "Try hard for me."

She acted a bit like his mother. Or was it his sister? He couldn't remember. The way she held her head cocked to the side, the tone she spoke in, reserved for children- it stirred in him some memory, and in that memory was a small snatch of voice, there only for a second, but long enough for him to recognize.

_"Hah! That's what you get for messing with Leif O'Dell!"_

"Leif O'Dell!" he repeated, aloud.

Saturday drew back a moment, surprise shining in her azure blue eyes. "Was that a memory?"

"Yes, it was," Leif said eagerly.

"Wonderful. Good job, you've done well," she praised him, and he liked that praise. It wasn't often a Denizen complimented a mere Piper's Child. "You're a smart boy, Leif."

He blushed a little. "Thanks, Milady."

She was writing in a black leather-bound notebook, and he couldn't see what exactly. "Leif O'Dell, correct?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"…falls… off… Tower…" she said as she wrote, then glanced at the clock hanging up on the far side of her study.

"Er, Milady? What's going on?"

"Wait thirty seconds and you'll find out."

Thirty seconds later, Leif O'Dell lost control of his limbs, running and breaking through the windows to plunge several thousand feet to his death below. Saturday watched the impact of his tiny little body, looking for the entire House like a speck from the distance. "Not exactly a human," she mused, "but a creature that once was. This is interesting."

She turned from the scene and called, "Dusk, get someone in here to clean up this glass; I'd rather not cut myself." Then she picked up the Death Note and, once more, opened to the page of rules. Strangely, more seemed to have appeared, and the original wording had changed.

**1. The human or thing that was once human whose name is written in this note shall die.**  
**2. This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/or her full name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will be unaffected.**  
**3. If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the person's full name, it will happen.**  
**4. If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.**  
**5. After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.**

She did not remember the first rule containing that wording or all the others specifying for a full name, and she had an extraordinarily good memory. Maybe the book adapted to the environment it was in? The House altered many things that passed through it; it was not unthinkable to suggest that the book fell into its sphere of influence as well.

Saturday frowned as she turned the page and found a new set of rules, which she was certain weren't there before.

**1. The note shall become the property of the human world once it touches the ground of or arrives in the human world. This is true for any world.**  
**2. The owner of the note can recognize the image of voice of the original owner, i.e. a god of death.**  
**3. The human who uses the notebook can neither go to Heaven nor Hell.**

"But I am not human," Saturday whispered to herself, "and I didn't know they existed. I've already come to terms with the fact that I will not go to either of those places, and I don't plan to die any time soon. As for the original owner…"

"That'd be me," said a voice right behind her. "Hello, sweetie."

* * *

**I was planning to put this story off until I finished one of my other active fics, but I couldn't resist. Therefore, enjoy. This one will now be one of my active fics, and I'll try to update regularly.**


	3. Chapter Two- Getting Accustomed

Chapter Two- Getting Accustomed

Kurik wasn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe a scream, a shout of "Monster!" or "Demon!" Perhaps a sharp intake of breath, a sort of tremor in the voice.

He was not, however, expecting her to place the book on her desk, turn around, and say, ever so placidly, "About time you showed up. I was wondering when."

"Had you gone on reading the rules," Kurik growled, "you'd know that I'd have to show up within 39 days of your touching it."

"Not true," the woman shrugged. "It says after a human has touched it, and though I am close in appearance and arguably in soul, I am not human."

"That, sweetie, is quite obvious."

"Could you not call me that?" She made a face. "I have a name."

"Then let's hear it," Kurik mocked.

She opened her mouth and raised her index finger, then frowned and sighed. "Uh, actually, I have a title. I am Superior Saturday, Most Supreme Sorcerer of the Upper House, Third in Precedence within the House, Deputy of Lord Sunday and of the House, Vice Commander in Chief of the Great Maze, Tacit Ruler of the Secondary Realms underneath Lord Sunday, Trustee of the Architect, and-"

"Okay, doll, I get it, you've got yourself quite a list of accolades there," Kurik smirked. "Try putting all that on a business card."

Superior Saturday Long-Title-Lady smirked back. "I have."

"Oh. Well, I am Kurik, Shinigami Extraordinaire," he said, and bowed. "That is my Death Note. Yours now, I suppose. Or, since you're not human, maybe I could take it back any time I want."

"I doubt it." Saturday gave him a self-satisfied smile. Kurik wasn't sure to hate her or like her for that self-confidence and complete, utter arrogance. After all, according to Ryuk, Light had a certain amount of self-righteousness as well. She might very well be a Kira, and one who wouldn't die as easily, either.

Kurik studied her, to see if she would fit his purpose or if he'd been unlucky. She was tall, at least eight feet or so, with long blue hair and shining azure eyes, a poise that reeked of a sort of refined nobility mixed with some sort of uncoupled superiority. She wasn't bad, appearance-wise; in fact, she was quite attractive, as far as humans or humanoids went. He saw her name floating above her head, a name he was beginning to think she herself didn't know, and he saw her 'Death Day,' as he called it, the rest of her remaining life span. He knew when she'd die, and that, to him, meant she was vulnerable, in a certain way. She had no such information on him.

"I'll admit I don't know much about your race," Kurik said, "the Denizens. And I don't know what the Note will do to you, being one. But it's bound to be interesting."  
Saturday smiled coldly. "Am I a toy to you?"

"All the worlds and their inhabitants are toys to me."

"I see we have similar views of the Realms," she said. "Mm, good. It would be most annoying if someone who would constantly hound me on the morality of my actions were bound to me by a cursed notebook."

"It's not cursed."

"Sure. Whatever you say. You're the expert. It's a good thing I can rely on you for such matters."

He didn't like how she hid insults in her compliments. Her tone wasn't even sarcastic, but he caught the edge in her words anyway. "Any questions, swe- Saturday?"

"Can this notebook kill Denizens, or only mortals?"

Straight to the point.

"I don't know," he admitted. "A Denizen's never picked it up before."

"Then let's find out." She seemed to draw energy from the challenge, and stood a little straighter.

There was something very Kira-like about her, but different. Older, wiser, and far, far crazier. She didn't seem like it at first glance, but Kurik suspected this Saturday woman was insane. Off her rockers. Completely bonkers. Oh, he was in for entertainment all right.

* * *

It had been exactly a week since Leif had taken the plunge. New windows had been fitted in, and Saturday had entered back into her set schedule after forcing Friday to hand over one of her Piper's Children to fill Leif's spot. Friday had complained, of course, but there wasn't much she could do about it.

Saturday leaned against the wall and took out the Death Note, talking aloud to Kurik. It hadn't taken her long to realize no one else could see him, and when she found out that they could if they touched the Note, she took sufficient sorcerous precautions to make sure it would either move away from prying fingers or emit a painful explosion of Nothing that would kill the Denizen. Of course, this meant the Note would be destroyed as well, but it was better than someone finding out about it.

"I need to test this on Denizens," she said. "It'd seem suspicious if there were two deaths in my demesne too closely to one another in occurrence, since we rarely die in the House. I suppose I could kill one of Thursday's soldiers, but…"

"So who do you want to test it on?"

She pointed to a white-haired female Denizen below. The Denizen was clad in a large raincoat and sleek black pants, rubber rain boots coming up to her knees. She held an umbrella over her head as she strode towards one of the large two trees several kilometers away from Saturday's Tower.

"Who's that?" Kurik asked.

"I'm disappointed, Kurik. Truly, I am. That is my Dawn."

"Oh. Your what?"

Saturday rolled her eyes. "You've been here for a week and you haven't figured it out yet? I have a Dawn, Noon, and Dusk. They are my Times."

"What's up with the timey-wimey stuff?" Kurik said. "Saturday, that Sunday guy you complain about, that Friday lady you stole that kid from, and now your Times."

"I didn't come up with the system," Saturday snapped. "Anyway, my Dawn is headed over to scout out the Drasil trees. This is absolutely fruitless and useless. I told her not to; she's going to get herself killed. Those darn trees have protections, but she won't listen."

"Why not?"

"Because she, like all Denizens, is single-minded. They want only to please their superiors. She believes I would be happier, even if she disobeyed my orders- which is bound to irritate me _at the least_- if she found a way to breach the Gardens, but she won't. I'm desperate too, but I'm not _that_ desperate."

"You talk as if you've above that."

"I _am _above that. I'm Superior Saturday for a reason, Kurik. I was the first. I am the perfect one. I don't stoop so low as to try and flatter those above me."

"So, then, you're going to kill your Dawn?" Kurik asked, incredulous. "Your own highest officer?"

"Well, if she's going to die anyway on some suicide mission in the Gardens," Saturday shrugged, "it'd be a good way to test out the Note without arousing far too much suspicion. Lucky me I could find her name quickly; good thing I keep my officers' records close by."

This sounded a little wrong, even to Kurik, but it makes logical sense, and he did promise Saturday he wouldn't be her moral police officer. Besides, he was bound to the rules- he had no obligation to either help or stop the deaths caused by the Note.

Saturday watched her Dawn until she disappeared over the lip of the horizon- a fake horizon, as Kurik now knew everything in the House only emulated physical attributes of planets to a degree- and then wrote the name down in the Note.

"Aren't you going to show me the name?" Kurik whined.

"No. You know it already."

"How did you-"

"I'm not stupid. I can tell the way you keep snickering every time you look at me and then ask what my name is, and I can't answer. You can see names, can't you?"

"And remaining life spans," Kurik said, surprised she'd deducted it.

"Mm-hmm. I should read more of these rules," she said.

"I would recommend it," Kurik replied. "But tell me- what cause of death did you write?"

Saturday smiled thinly and coldly. It was a malicious smirk, the kind that made one shiver. Kurik liked it.

"Dismemberment by Drasil," she said. "The Trees' limbs come alive, and they're quite vicious when aggravated."

"But if the Drasils do that if people get too close, how will you know if she died? You can't verify it for yourself, because you can't get close to the body."

"Easy. Details may be written within the next six minutes and forty seconds. Right before she dies, she will set off a flare requesting aide."

Saturday pursed her lips and looked out the window, then pulled out her pocket watch.

"Did you write the time of death?" Kurik asked.

"I'm not stupid. I won't wait ages for someone to die."

"You'd only have to wait forty seconds."

"If it's a heart attack. The Note's rules say nothing about whether or not that applies if I specify a different cause of death." She smirked. "Did you think that would trip me up?"

He had.

"Five seconds," Saturday said, and stared steadfastly out the window. The flare rose into the air, a bright pinprick of light, before fading into gloom, dying just like the Denizen who'd set it off, two candles snuffed by eternity.

Saturday turned away from the window and the almost accusatory drizzle of the rain and picked up an old-fashioned phone that looked ancient even to Kurik. "Noon," she said. "Send Pravuil up to see me, immediately. He's in need of a promotion."

"Aren't you going to grieve about your Dawn? Feel sorry, at least?" Kurik asked.

"Why?" Saturday turned back and gave him a blank look. "That's a stupid question. I should not feel sorrow over someone so ignorant as to ignore my orders and go on an essentially suicide mission. Besides, the universe is set like a giant scale. So long as the good outweighs the bad, I have no cause to regret. Killing Dawn taught me valuable things about the Note; the Note will help me set things right and never have to see this infernal rain ever again." She chuckled. "Yes, Kurik. It never rains in the Gardens."

"If you hate the rain so much, use your weather machine," Kurik grumbled.

"Mine is fixed to the rain by order of Lord Sunday."

"Then ask him to let off."

"I am not asking that idiot for anything!" she hissed. "Besides, I can't stop the rain. Then it'll get free."

She gave no explanation of _what. _Maybe, Kurik thought, she was talking about her conscience. After all, she seemed to have a very warped one. She was definitely Kira material, only about a hundred times more ancient and a thousand times more psychopathic.

"Oh, and by the way," she said. "I have the feeling you don't need to eat but would like to anyway. Anything you'd like? I can order it for you."

Kurik cocked his head to the side, as if contemplating it, but he wasn't really. He had his answer almost instantaneously. "Apples."

* * *

"I can offer you Shinigami eyes," Kurik told her. "As I mentioned earlier, I can see names and life spans of everyone. You can too, if you offer half your remaining life span."

"I'm not going to die," Saturday laughed. "Therefore, I don't have a life span. You can't halve _eternity_."

Kurik didn't say otherwise. He didn't want to tell her anything in the contrary, because he had a feeling it'd put her in a bad mood. "Then you'd have nothing to fear from the trade," he shrugged.

"Tempting, but no. You can just tell me yourself."

"I have no obligation to help."

"Of course you don't _have _to. But what if you _wanted _to?"

Kurik burst into guffaws at that. "Sorry, doll, but I don't. It's more entertaining watching you do all this on your own."

"You have a sick sense of entertainment," Saturday said with an amused snort.

"You have a sick view of the world," he replied.

"I don't deny the truth," she said. "All right, then. Be that way."

"So no for the eyes?"

"Absolutely. I wouldn't want to deform this gorgeous blue pair anyway," she laughed, but it was a half-strangled sort of chuckle, and she glanced at the mirror, her gaze lingering a moment too long.

"What is it?" Kurik inquired.

"My eyes," she sighed. "They weren't always this… icy."

"But they fit you," Kurik said. "Icy eyes for someone with a frigid composure and soul."

"I know." Saturday frowned. "They match. That's the problem."


	4. Chapter Three- Appendix A

Chapter Three- Appendix A

Saturday's Dusk had never seen his Mistress so elated. She wore her self-confident smirk far more often than usual, and often said things like, "Yes, this really CAN work," or "Nearly there, Dusk!" Following Pravuil's appointment to be her new Dawn, Saturday actually picked Dusk up and twirled him. Twirled him!

"She's pleased," said Dusk to Noon.

"I wonder why," Noon said.

"I would just be happy with it, but there's something a little... sinister... about this," Dusk confided. "And Dawn's disappearance has me worried."

"If you're so concerned," Noon dismissed, "bring it up with her."

But Noon knew better than to do _that._

* * *

"Hmm," Saturday mused. "I've just had an idea."

"What's that?" Kurik asked, munching on an apple. Saturday always had a bowl ready for him, claiming she had a sudden craving of them. It was odd for a Denizen, but no one would dare question it.

"If the Lower House and the Far Reaches were to fall into Nothing, as I have planned all these years, I should be able to reach the Gardens. But if I were to strike at the Great Maze as well, the process would be... accelerated."

"You're going to sabotage your own military?" Kurik replied.

"Well, it's not they do anything of note," Saturday shrugged. "They just run toy Campaigns. The House hasn't needed true defense since before the Architect left. They're more of a symbol than an actual military. I doubt anyone would miss them."

"But what if the House does need defense?"

"When I get the Seventh Key," Saturday said, "that will no longer be a concern."

"What, you'll be powerful enough to solve it on your own?"

"I'm saying there'll be nothing to solve."

"I don't follow."

"You don't have to." Saturday scribbled out a telegram and then promptly sent it to Pravuil, far too smug. "There. Let's see how Thursday handles several thousand Nithlings." Then she cocked her head to the side, as if it was weighted down by a new thought. "Actually... on top of that..."

She clapped her hands. "Noon! Dusk! Pravuil!"

All three skidded into her room and gave her haphazard salutes. Normally, the irony would irritate her, but seeing as she was now in a very good mood, she cracked a smile instead. "I want you three to round up any records on the Great Maze's soldiers that you can, especially the generals and the Marshalls. Understood?"

"Of course, Mistress," they bowed.

"Good." She waved her hand. "Dismissed." Then she turned and looked out the window, eyes dancing to the rhythm of the rain. "Oh, wonderful. This truly is wonderful. Without soldiers to carry out the Campaign, the Maze will fall. I wonder if I should write 'Death by Nithling' or give them heart attacks? That'd be immensely disturbing."

"Why?"

"Denizens don't have heart attacks," Saturday sniffed, as if that should have been obvious.

"It's already been done," Kurik retorted.

"What else am I supposed to do?" she huffed. "Stroke or burst appendixes?"

* * *

General Lepter sneered as her brief conference with Colonel Nage ended. The man had doubts about the order changes Major Pravuil had sent her, and she had tried to allay them- albeit in a rude, condescending manner known to higher Denizens and soldiers- by telling him Major Pravuil was known to her. Major Pravuil _was _known to her, though not very well. All she truly understood was that Thursday had promoted the little scoundrel and authorized the Campaign change. She didn't have to like it, but orders were orders, and that was all she needed.

General Lepter had her own troops to worry about. So many Nithlings leaking into the Maze, some were bound to make it to where she was stationed, and her fort would not fall.

She clicked her tongue as she slammed her lead communication figure of Colonel Nage back into the box of the little magical knick-knacks. Then she pivoted, spinning on her heels, and opened her mouth to bark out an order at some soldier saluting at the door when fierce abdominal pain struck her head-on.

General Lepter gasped and fell onto her knees, fighting back bile rising in her throat. The soldier screamed and ran out, calling for help.

General Lepter threw up and clutched her midsection, wondering what in the House was going on.

* * *

Marshall Dawn was used to sudden mood swings. Say the wrong thing, and any of the Days could fly into a rage, and Thursday was by far the worst. Sometimes she wondered if being in such high precedence in the Maze and being able to work side-by-side with him was a blessing or a curse.

Marshall Dawn was the only Borderer of Thursday's Times, and as such, found the Campaign greatly troubling, more so than her brothers. She understood the impinges of the Void better than most soldiers, a consequence of having fought several hundred battles there herself before her promotion to the Citadel that eventually led her to where she was today. It was a good thing, to have a Borderer nearby to remind everyone of the true situation of the edges of the Maze, where Nothing made everything foreign and strange. Dawn still remembered what she'd seen there, and if anyone thought the fighting in the Maze was horrible, they would do well to stay away from the borders- especially the Boundary Fort. Dawn's earliest memories were of the Fort, and they were not pleasant.

_A fat lot of good, having a Borderer as a Marshall if they don't listen, _she thought sourly as she strode down the Citadel's hallways. Soldiers stopped and saluted as she passed, and she acknowledged them with a nod of the head. She was quite popular among them, despite the Citadel being comprised of mainly Regimental troops. She liked to think it was her stellar personality. _This Campaign change is madness. It'll destroy the Maze. Surely Thursday knows that; the situation is as unstable as ever, and he wants ALL FOUR GATES open at once for several hours? Ridiculous. It's just as ridiculous as Upper House politics. Hmm... ergh, I hate politics. I wonder..._

Dawn stopped outside of Thursday's study, glanced at the door for a second, then sighed and continued on her way.

Noon nearly bowled over her as she was about to open the door that led to her washroom's weirdway. Although Army Denizens did not require much sleep, Dawn was still pushing it, and she was getting a bit drowsy. Some cold water on her face would do her some good.

"Dawn!" Noon called.

"What is it?"

"I just got off the phone with a soldier from one of the forts," he said, his face unreadable. His expression troubled her. "It's General Lepter.".

"Oh, what about Lepter?" Lepter was certainly not a friend of Dawn's- thinking about it, Dawn supposed she had no friends, period- but was more than a stranger. A fellow soldier and survivor.

Lepter had once fought alongside Dawn, when the Legion and the Borderers had swept back a force of over two thousand Nithlings with just three hundred soldiers in a desperate, mad, last-minute battle of blood, guts, and glory.

Dawn, Lepter, and the soldiers' glory.

Nithlings' blood and guts.

"She's a little too far inland to be affected by the Campaign change already," Dawn continued. "What, does she also see the madness of this?"

The Gates had been opened yesterday, and as far as Dawn knew from her Borderer contacts, things were not going well. She had lost contact with the Boundary Fort completely, and that did not bode well. Surely the tide wasn't that large of a tsunami, to affect her already. If it was, things were far worse than possible and they were all doomed. Like most in her position, Dawn was an optimist, though being near Thursday and all the fighting made her job at it particularly more difficult. Even an optimist, however, knew when to stop clinging to ridiculous hopes.

"No, that's not it," Noon said. "General Lepter's dead."

Dawn's jaw dropped. "Wha- dead?"

"Dead."

"As in, _dead?"_

"We are soldiers of the Architect, Dawn. We are prepared to die if we must."

Borderers were. Everyone else was just prepared to get hurt. No one _really_ died.

"Dead?" Dawn repeated feebly.

"Yes! How many times do I have to say it?" Noon asked.

"But- but how? Assassination? Maybe a Nithling got there after all. Nithlings and a battle? A coup? No, that's unthinkable; no one would ever stage a coup... maybe-"

"Her appendix burst," Noon interrupted.

"Denizens have appendixes?" Dawn said, and wrinkled her nose.

"Apparently."

"And bursting them is fatal?"

"Apparently."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard!" Well, except for the Campaign change, but she wouldn't go around blatantly advertising the fact.

"But it's true," Noon sighed.

Dawn tapped her fingers against the door handle. This had shocked her awake much better than any water on her face could have. The absurdity of it, the unreality of it, washed over her as surely as the Nithlings were bound to within the next few weeks. "Are you sure?"

"Quit asking me!" Noon cried. "Would I be telling you if I wasn't sure?"

"We should tell Sir Thursday," Dawn whispered.

Noon's face paled. "Whatever for? It's just a burst appendix. A medical anomaly... surely it won't affect the other soldiers."

"If we all have appendixes, then we all might have them burst," Dawn said. "I suspect..." She dropped her voice. "...Sabotage."

"From whom? A murderer wouldn't be able to make it look like that."

"Unless that murderer was a sorcerer from..." She trailed off.

"Dawn, you're this close to speaking treason." Noon made an indication with his thumb and index finger. Very close indeed. "You tell Thursday, if you think this is so important. But I... personally... find it merely disturbing."

"Is that why you came running to me?"

"I thought..." Noon frowned. "Ah, confound it. Yes, I suspect something! But if Thursday tells us there is nothing to worry about, there is nothing to worry about."

"_What _may or may not be a concern?" hissed a voice behind him.

Dawn snapped into a salute. "Sir Thursday, sir!"

"What were you to tell me?" Thursday said calmly. He was usually remarkably cool-headed when not in one of his rages.

"Reporting the death of General Lepter via... burst appendix, sir." Dawn said.

Thursday's face twisted. "Burst appendix? That's lethal?"

"Apparently," Noon sighed.

"But-surely-"

"Sir," Dawn said softly, "it is a bit hard to swallow, but I trust Noon when he says it has happened."

"If that is the case..." Thursday's eyes set. "Get me a phone. I need to talk to that Upper House witch!"

* * *

"Come on, Thursday!" Saturday shouted into the mouthpiece. "Do you have any idea what you sound like? A scared Piper's Child who just heard about a four-headed Nithling on the loose for the first time! Are you serious? As if I could have anything to do with it! Denizens don't die from burst appendixes." Saturday flipped open her copy of 'Basic Denizen Anatomy', a useful reference penned by a sorcerer whose later works were not as well-received and was now encysted and hanging from one of the Tower bulwarks. "Nothing. Falls from greater than 10,000 feet (of course, with exceptions for wielders of a Key). Festering Nithling-inflicted wounds without proper treatment or that dissolve the Denizen too quickly to receive treatment. Steam. That is all that can kill a Denizen. Where do you hear burst appendix? Nowhere."

"What are you suggesting?" Thursday's voice came out of the phone's earpiece as Kurik snickered.

"I'm suggesting that you check the body over and look for signs of a murder. Perhaps you have unrest among your troops," Saturday replied. "Or perhaps a Nithling got to her."

"A Nithling that can make a murder look like a burst appendix? That'd be a smart Nithling, and smart Nithlings don't exist!"

"Mm, then it wasn't a Nithling. It's _your_ dead soldier. You deal with it."

Saturday hung up with her lips curving upward ever so slightly. "And now..." She glanced at the stack of records her Times had managed to find- in all, about ten or so, and only three of them were high-ranking soldiers, but more were coming, and she was impressed they had found so many so quickly. Of course, considering that the Upper House was in a much higher state of organization than the Lower, it was no particularly amazing feat... Unfortunately, they had yet to find one record belonging to the Marshalls. Call it coincidence, call it Thursday's good luck- or perhaps even more- but they were nowhere to be found.

Quite a few sorcerers were encysted after that particular discovery.

"So, now what?" Kurik said, leaning over her shoulder so his drool dripped onto her sweater.

Saturday made a face and wiped at it, then shot him a death glare. "Now I taunt Thursday by killing more of his officials that way, Nithlings overrun the Maze, Nothing takes the trees and I can build faster than they grow, I take over the Gardens, happily ever after, the end." She handed Kurik another apple and said, "Munch on this before you get your saliva all over my cape."

"Well-played," Kurik said, greedily lunging at the proferred fruit.

"My plan or saving my laundry?" Saturday said. "You need to work on clarity when speaking."

"Right, because you're so great at it yourself."

"When I am obscure, I do it on purpose," Saturday said. "Whereas I think you do it out of either laziness or ignorance."

Kurik scowled and bit into the apple. "I'll pretend you didn't insult me," he said with his mouth full.

Saturday wrinkled her nose as his words spewed chunks of apple on the floor. "Watch it. That rug's expensive."


End file.
